Prologue

      London—March 26th, 1832

      Laughing and energised, Christopher Lattimar, Member of Parliament for Wiltshire, led his friends into the small private room at the Quill and Gavel, a tavern on a quiet street near the Houses of Parliament. ‘Time to celebrate our achievement. I’d say it’s a night for wine, women and song!’

      ‘Or at least wine and women,’ Ben Tawny agreed with a grin.

      ‘Two of my favourite things,’ Christopher said.

      ‘As we well know,’ Ben replied.

      ‘You should,’ Christopher tossed back. ‘Since until recently, you outdid me in enjoying both.’

      ‘Enough, you two,’ Giles Hadley, Viscount Lyndlington, said with a mock frown. ‘Ah, here’s Ransen with some ale. Though, given the momentousness of the achievement, Ben, you might have ordered champagne.’

      ‘Too French!’ Ben replied. ‘To celebrate the first change in four hundred years in the way Parliamentary representatives are chosen, we needed good English ale.’

      ‘We’re not there yet,’ David Tanner Smith cautioned as he deposited his tall frame into a chair. ‘The Third Reform Bill only passed the House today. We’ve still got to get it through the Lords.’

      ‘After all the riots and dissention when the Second Bill failed last autumn, the Lords wouldn’t dare oppose it now,’ Giles said. ‘The country won’t stand for any further delay!’

      ‘We’ll see,’ Davie replied. ‘Still, getting it passed in the House was a momentous achievement.’ Grabbing a mug from the tray the innkeeper left for them, he lifted it high. ‘To Lord Grey’s leadership!’

      ‘And to yours,’ Ben said, raising his mug to Davie. ‘We provided the agitation, but you honed the bill’s provisions.’

      ‘I think we should drink to us all,’ Christopher said. ‘Who would have imagined ten years ago that four Oxford misfits would band together, win seats in Parliament, and help bring about the biggest change in British government since the Middle Ages?’ He raised his mug. ‘To my dear colleagues and best friends. To the Hellions!’

      ‘To the Hellions,’ the others echoed, and downed a long draught.

      ‘Shall we talk strategy?’ Davie proposed. ‘Draw up a list of which peers are most likely to be persuaded, and decide the best arguments to sway them?’

      ‘We shall—but not tonight,’ Giles said. ‘Let’s just enjoy this first victory. Speaking of which...’ he paused to drain his mug and set it on the table ‘...I’m afraid I must abandon the celebration. Maggie’s increasing, as you know, and hasn’t been feeling well. I should get back to her. Don’t let me break up the party, though! Have several more rounds, and tell Ransen to put it on my tab.’

      ‘Thanks for the offer, but I should go, too,’ David said. ‘I can’t wait to share the news with Faith.’

      ‘She’ll be so proud of you,’ Christopher said, admiration for his quiet, determined, brilliant friend filling him. ‘Through skill and planning, the Dowager Duchess’s commoner husband has brought a recalcitrant aristocracy to heel.’

      Davie waved a deprecating hand. ‘A joint achievement—for all of us.’ Setting down his own mug, he said, ‘Goodnight, gentlemen! And thank you—for your hard work, and most especially, for your friendship all these years.’

      ‘That goes for all of us,’ Ben said. Raising his mug to the company, he said, ‘To the Hellions.’

      Giles and Davie clapped Ben on the shoulder as they walked out. After finishing his own mug, Ben added it to the tray. ‘I’m off as well.’

      ‘Isn’t Alyssa away on one of her sketching expeditions?’ Christopher asked. ‘You could come out with me. Just a few rounds of ale, for old time’s sake.’

      Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘A few rounds of ale? What about the “woman” part of the celebration? I understand you recently parted company with the Divine Clarissa. Have you replaced her yet?’

      ‘Not yet. There are several matrons of great appetite and small morals who have made their interest quite clear.’

      ‘And Mrs Anderson recently left the Duke of Portland’s protection. I seem to remember her casting lures in your direction, even while she was with Portland.’

      ‘Can’t help being irresistible,’ Christopher said, and ducked his friend’s punch. ‘Oh, they are all lovely enough. But none of them...quite tempt me.’

      The image of a courtesan who had always more than tempted him came to mind. How fast he’d jump to follow, were Ellie Parmenter to crook a finger in his direction!

      Shaking his thoughts free, he said, ‘How about spending the rest of the evening at Madame Aurelie’s? Good wine, lovely women to pour it,